Locked Out
by Trn736
Summary: Butters' parents lock him out of the house one Saturday night. In his quest to contact his parents without angering them further, he runs into a group of sixth graders who don't take kindly to fourth graders wandering around alone late at night.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All places and characters referenced to the television show _South Park_ are the property of Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

"B-but why do I have to play at the park all day, dad?"

"Because, son, your mom and I need some alone time today."

"I could just play in our yard or in my room. I promise I won't be too loud or b-bother you guys at all!" Butters beseeched him to reconsider.

"You are going to play in this park until seven o'clock tonight, Butters!" Stephen dictated firmly, reaching across Butters to open his car door. "And if you are a minute late or a minute early, you're grounded mister! Understand?!"

"Y-yes sir," Butters hung his head in submission as he stepped out of the car.

With that Stephen shut the car door and took off in the direction of the Stotch residence.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon. The sky was clear and filled with rays from the late summer sun. The park was surprisingly busy that afternoon, as busy as one would expect a small town park to be, that is.

Butters eyed the park goers in hopes of seeing someone he knew, but no such luck.

_Dang! I don't know anyone here. What the heck am I going to do until seven?! _He asked himself, surveying the area for points of interest.

_Field. Some benches. Public restrooms. Payphone._

The last thing to catch his eye was the small lamppost-like clock in the center of the park walkway.

The hands read 1:15.

_1:15? I have to stay here for 6 more hours?!_

At a loss for anything to do or anyone to do anything with, he made his way to one of the park benches and took a seat.

As people came and went he kept hoping someone he knew would show up to keep him company or maybe even play a game; but as the afternoon agonizingly drug on and the sun began to set, his hopes faded with the daylight.

Anxiously tracking time, he looked up at the clock.

_6:45… I better get heading home! If I don't make it there by 7 dad's gonna be awful sore…_

He bolted up from the bench and jogged off toward his house.

'…_or a minute early, you're grounded mister!' _He remembered.

_But not too fast… _He slowed down to a speed walk.

After the nearly three kilometer walk, Butters neared his house. The time was unbeknownst to him.

_Oh boy… I don't know what time it is… _He thought, approaching the door.

_I guess I'm just going to have to take my chances that it's exactly 7 o'clock._

Apprehensively, he reached for the doorknob expecting nothing less than an immediate scorning by his father for being a minute early or a minute late or, god forbid, any earlier or later than a minute.

The doorknob clicked and refused to turn any further.

"What the…?" He said aloud trying it again.

_Locked_

"Oh, geez. I am in so much trouble…," he mused, planning his next move.

He decided his only course of action was to knock on the door and let his parents know he was back. The longer he waited the more trouble he would probably be in.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

…

He knocked a little louder, but there was still no response.

_They're probably punishing me by not letting me in or something._ He decided, sadly taking a seat on the doorstep.

As another few hours passed Butters could feel himself getting tired. He knew it had to be getting late.

He knocked on the door again and there was still no response.

_Maybe I could try a window?_

He walked around the house scanning windows in hopes of finding a way to get his parents' attention.

After circling the property he could see there were many lights on.

They had to be home.

_Dad will probably yell at me if I pound on a window but gosh darn it; I don't know what else to do._

Butters nervously stepped up to the only window on the house he could reach – the living room window – and started to tap on the glass.

"Mom? Dad? Is anyone is anyone home?"

He stopped tapping and waited.

Minutes passed yet again with no response.

Defeated, he trudged back to the front doorstep of the house.

"Mom, dad, I'm sorry I didn't come back from the park at the right time… Please don't make me sleep outside tonight…," He said aloud to the door, voice filled with despair.

_What's the use?_

He slumped onto the step and buried his face in his hands.

After brooding for a few minutes Butters devised one last ditch effort plan.

_Maybe if I call them and beg they'll let me in…?_

He started thinking about where he was going to find a phone to call his house and hopefully convince his parents to forgive him.

_I could ask the neighbors…_

This approach was quickly discarded.

…_But it's pretty late and I'm already in so much trouble; if I wake up the neighbors to use their phone, I'll never be let back into the house._

He was about ready to give up when he remembered: _Payphone!_

_There's a payphone down at the park! I could use that!_

This revelation sparked a glimmer of hope for him as he made haste toward the park.

The town was quiet and the streets were empty by the time the park was in sight.

Butters walked up to the payphone ready to dial his house.

He unhooked the black phone and suddenly realized: _I need money to use a payphone…_

Crushed, he replaced the phone and hung his head low as he slowly walked toward and took a seat on a nearby park bench.

"Gosh, Butters… First you come home late and then you walk across town to use a payphone that you don't have money for… I guess I can't do anything right…," he said to himself aloud, tears welling in his eyes.

"Yeah! Over there!" A voice broke the silence of the night.

Butters quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up to see a group of multiple mean-looking kids approaching him.

_6__th__ Graders?! Oh hamburgers!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Isn't it past your bed time fourthy?" The boy in the lead questioned as he quickly approached Butters.

"Oh, hey there f-fellas… It actually is past my bed time. I was – I was just about to be on my way…," he nervously fidgeted his hands as he stood up and started to cautiously walk away.

Almost instantly the boy grappled him by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going?!" He threw Butters to the ground.

"I-I don't want no tr-trouble, fellas!" He stammered, stunned as the group of boys surrounded him.

The leader boy turned to one of the other boys in the group.

"This is a perfect opportunity for you…," he began, "If you want in with us let's see that you're not afraid to get your hands dirty if the time comes! He stepped away from Butters, who was still on the ground.

"No! Please! P-Please don't beat me up! I won't tell anyone you guys were out here, I promise! I'll leave right now! Please…," Butters panically beseeched.

The initiate broke formation in the circle and neared Butters menacingly cracking his knuckles. Butters had seen this kid before around school. Though only a sixth grader, he could easily pass as an eighth or ninth grader. He was – by far – the biggest boy in the group. Stocky – far more muscle than fat – and choleric.

Butters quickly scrambled upright as the apparent headsman neared in complete, malevolent silence.

Immediately after coming into range he unleashed a powerful, savage jab into Butters' gut.

He yelped in pain, staggering back.

Rapidly he followed up with yet another fierce jab to the abdomen knocking the wind out of Butters.

Breathless, he doubled over in agony.

"Ple-pleas-please…," he gasped.

Without pause he ferociously released a brutal hook to the side of Butters' face.

The harsh impact sent him spinning to the ground.

Warm, viscous, metallic tasting liquid gushed from his nose and cascaded down his chin.

Relentlessly the ruffian straddled the helpless, battered boy and clenched his jacket, slamming his head onto the concrete with a sickening thud.

Fluidly, he hoisted the boy back to his feet and held him off the ground in show-like fashion by his blood-stained jacket as the other hoodlums cheered, preparing for some fantastic death blow finale to this twisted gang tryout.

Vision blurred, Butters made eye contact with his assailant.

His stare was unwavering.

His hate-filled eyes were devoid of compassion, devoid of empathy; eyes brimming only with the malicious intent of beating this helpless, kind, caring, fun-loving fourth grader, presumably, to death.

"Okay! That's enough!" Butters was jarred back to reality by one of the other boys yelling.

"We don't want to kill him!"

The boy scowled as he dropped Butters.

He landed hard on his right ankle and collapsed to the ground.

"Impressive…," the obvious 'gang' leader complimented, "I think you'll be right at home with us."

He turned to the injured boy crying in physical anguish on the sidewalk.

"I – I just w-wanted to go home…" he sniffled, barely able to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah? Well, let this be a lesson to never be out this late again. Stupid fourthy," he sneered, delivering the coup de grâce: a bone-crushing kick to ribs.

"Alright, let's get out of here!" He hailed his members and they all disappeared into the darkness.

Butters was left lying on the ground teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

A few minutes later a cool gust of wind reconnected Butters with reality.

Immediately he realized how much pain he was in.

_My whole body aches…_

_It hurts to breathe_…

He moved his head to the side and let out a painful cough, spitting up a decent amount of the blood running down the back of his throat.

_My head…_ He brought his hands up to cradle his throbbing head.

The back of his head felt wet.

He moved his hands to the source and back out into the semi-blurred line of vision of the eye that was not almost swollen shut.

_Blood…_ _I think I'm gonna be sick…_

He shut his eyes and tried to calm his stomach down.

After lying on the ground for a while longer, he felt as if he had regained enough of his senses to actually think.

_If I stay here much longer those guys might come back… I don't even know how long it's been since they left…_ He gingerly turned onto his side, conveniently in the direction of the clock in the middle of the park.

_About midnight… I guess it hasn't been too long… _He paused, recovering for his next move.

_I need to get home... _

Butters painfully eased himself into a sitting position and from there grabbed onto the nearby park bench to leverage himself onto his feet. With all of his remaining energy he lifted himself off the ground and onto the bench.

The sudden movement made him feel very lightheaded.

"Ugh…," he moaned out loud, trying to shake it off.

_Even if I get home, how am I going to get in anyway? That's why I'm out here in the first place!_

_I still need to find a phone…_

As he sat recuperating strength to stand he looked down at his blood-spattered clothing.

"Aww… m-mom's gonna – not gonna be too happy when she sees this," he ran his hand across his jacket as if to wipe away some of the blood.

Once his head had equalized, he felt ready to stand up.

He planted his hands on the bench and arduously pushed himself onto his feet.

Being on his feet made him feel even more dizzy than before.

"Ow!" He yelped in pain at putting pressure on his right foot, steadying himself with the help of the bench.

_This too?! _ "H-how am I supposed to get home if I – if I can't even walk?!" He cried out in a combination of confusion, frustration, and pain.

This outburst elicited a sharp, stabbing pain in his upper chest.

_I have got to go! _

"Come on B-Butters… You – you can do this…," he winced in pain as he let go of his support and limped forward a few steps, barely able to keep his balance.

Between his limp and struggling to maintain his balance, every step was an agonizingly laborious effort; nothing short of an actual workout.

His respiration rate increased with the strenuous endeavor, this pain was excruciating.

He felt as if the pain he was experiencing was nothing short of somebody hitting him in the ribs with a baseball bat every time he inhaled.

_Come on… _He encouraged himself.

After what felt like an eternity, he had finally made it out of the park and across the street.

_That was only like a few hundred feet… I've got so far to go…_

He was distraught.

Butters stumbled up to the row of buildings and leaned himself against the wall for rest and balance.

_You can do this, Butters… You can do this…_

With all of the willpower he could find within himself, he set out on the grueling journey back toward his house.

By the time he made it just a few blocks, tears were streaming down his face; he felt like he was going to collapse.

_I don't think I can make it much further… _

As Butters looked down the street in an effort to gage the distance he still had to go, he saw a familiar house just near the end of the block; the house of Stan Marsh.

_Maybe I can use Stan's phone to call my parents…_

He decided this was probably his only realistic shot and mustered up the last bit of energy he had to approach the house.

As Butters neared the door, he was pretty sure he could make out Stan and Kyle sitting together in the still-illuminated living room through the window.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside the Marsh living room sleeping bags were unrolled near the base of the couch and various snacks and drinks were strewn about in the relative area.

"When did you say your parents were going to get back?" Kyle asked as he slid a bowl of popcorn in Stan's direction.

"They should be back sometime tomorrow afternoon," he grabbed a handful and pushed the bowl back to Kyle.

"And Shelly?"

"I don't know, dude," he took a moment to munch down the popcorn, "She left to go out with some of her friends before you came over, but not before threatening to kill me if I told mom or dad she left for the night when she was supposed to be watch us."

"That sounds about right!"

They both broke into laughter.

"Man, I thought this movie was going to be a lot more interesting than it actually is…," Stan offered as the laughter calmed.

"Yeah…"

"I could get my Xbox and we could play a game instead?"

"It'd be better than this!"

"Definitely!" Stan hopped up and headed for the stairs.

As he walked by the door – _tap, tap_ – he stopped.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?" Kyle called from the living room.

_Tap, tap, tap_ this time it was a little louder and clearer.

"That."

"It almost sounds like someone is knock on your door?"

"At midnight?" Stan was skeptical but, nonetheless, he walked up to the door and opened it just far enough so he could peek through the crack.

He was shocked by what he saw: a bloodied, mangled boy who was seemingly barely able to stand.

"Butters?! Jesus Christ!" He flung the door open all of the way.

Kyle hurried to the door; the sight of the boy elicited a similar reaction.

"Oh my God!"

"Oh, uh h-hey guys… I'm s-sorry to bother you but I was – I was just w-wandering if I could use your phone, Stan…?" He winced in pain as Kyle stepped out the door to steady the wobbly boy from one side and Stan from the other.

Stan and Kyle led him inside and sat him down on one of the chairs in the living room.

"What the hell happened?!" Stan exasperated.

"I… W-well some sixth graders b-beat me up…"

"Where?!"

"At the – at the park…"

"Why?! - What are you doing out this late anyway?!" Stan and Kyle talked over each other.

"I don't know!" Butters burst into tears.

"Dude, I think we need to get him to the hospital!" Kyle turned toward Butters, "You look like you're hurt pretty bad."

"No! My-my dad will be really angry-y if I go to the hospital! He's – they already locked me out of the house because – because they're so angry!" He continued to cry.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked, confused.

"I got h-home late – or early – I don't know! But they l-locked me out of the house and I went to the park because I was going to try to call them and say – say I'm sorry for disobeying them all the time..."

"Dude…" Both Stan and Kyle felt sorry for Butters.

"Ju-just l-let me use your phone and I'll go…"

"You're not in any condition to go anywhere," Stan commented.

"I – I just want to go h-home!" He sobbed harder.

Stan sighed as he looked at Kyle.

"Come on, Butters," he said, taking the boy's hand, "let's get you cleaned up."

Stan led him up the stairs to the bathroom with the support of Kyle and walked him to the sink.

"Let's get that blood off of your face."

He ran some warm water and gently helped Butters wash away the dried blood on his face and hands and the taste from his mouth.

"I feel kinda w-woozy guys…," he sniffled.

They helped him sit down.

"What hurts?" Stan asked.

"My head…"

It did not take Stan long to see why he was complaining of a headache.

A tuft of blonde hair on the back of his head was stained with blood that appeared to have originated from a sickening gash.

"Oh boy…," Stan was actually worried now.

He hailed Kyle over to take a look.

"Butters, this is serious. You need to go to the hospital!"

"No! I'm – I'm okay…," aware of his balance problem and obviously blurred vision, he knew this was a blatant lie – as did Stan and Kyle.

Kyle sighed.

"Where do you keep the first aid kit again, Stan?"

"It should be in that bottom cupboard," he pointed Kyle to the spot.

He opened the kit and took out a role of gauze.

"Stan, clean that up a bit and I'll cover it up. We don't need him getting blood all over your house."

Stan gingerly patted the wound with a washcloth to clean it up.

While Kyle proceeded to wrap his head in multiple layers of gauze, Stan stepped out of the room and returned a few seconds later with a clean t-shirt of his.

"You'd probably feel better if you weren't wearing that bloody shirt… You can borrow mine," Stan handed him the shirt.

Butters winced as he tried to lift his shirt up.

Stan stepped in and helped him pull it off.

Both boys noticed the large, dark bruises on his left side.

"Ouch…," Both boys said aloud as they cringed.

Stan carefully helped Butters pull the clean shirt on.

He was taking quick, shallow breaths.

"Can you breathe okay?" Kyle asked, extremely concerned.

"Yeah… it just hurt to move like that…"

By now, he was calming down a bit.

"What else hurts?" Kyle questioned.

"My ankle hurts a lot too…," he timidly moved his right foot.

Kyle undid the laces and pulled off his shoes and socks.

The area was quite swollen and also visibly bruised.

"Is that it then?" Stan asked, putting some of the stuff away.

"I think so," Butters nodded.

The two boys helped him back downstairs and sat him on the couch.

"Th-thanks guys…"

"Lay down, Butters," Kyle commanded, throwing him a pillow for his head and one for his ankle, "You need to elevate that thing."

Butters was silent as Stan and Kyle cleaned up some of their mess on the floor.

"Can I use your phone now? P-please?"

"Yeah," Stan walked over to the phone and brought it to Butters.

He dialed the number but the phone just kept ringing on the other end.

"They're – they're not answering," sadness washed over his face once again.

"It's okay," Stan soothed, "If it's already been this long I don't think they're going to respond tonight."

"They're probably already in bed, you'll hear from them in the morning," Kyle reassured.

"Wh-what am I gonna do then?" Butters thought aloud.

"You can just stay here with us tonight," Stan offered.

"Are – are you s-sure…? I thought you guys didn't like me very much…," Butters looked down and away from the two boys.

"Dude, just because we rip on you sometimes doesn't mean we hate you," Stan said, "We're guys; we rip on each other all the time!"

"In fact," Stan resumed, "I think I speak for both myself and Kyle when I say we like you better than a whole lot of people at school… "

"Yeah! Especially Cartman!" Kyle interjected.

All the boys shared a laugh, a laugh that caused Butters to moan in pain.

"We should probably get you something for that pain," Kyle observed.

"I think there's some Tylenol back upstairs in the bathroom, Kyle. If you grab that I'll get him an ice pack or two."

"Alright."

Kyle returned to the living room first with two white pills and a glass of water.

"Here," he handed them to Butters, "this should make you feel better."

He swallowed the pills just as Stan walked in from the kitchen carrying 2 home-made ice packs – gallon baggies filled with ice cubes.

"Here's one for your ankle, it should make the swelling go down," he gently placed it on Butters' injured ankle, "and here's one for your chest… That bruise looks pretty nasty," he handed the second to him.

Butters immediately started shivering.

Stan walked over to the closet and pulled out a bundle of spare blankets and piled them on top of the boy.

"That should keep you warm!" He smiled.

"I'm getting tired, it's late," Kyle yawned.

"Me too," both Stan and Butters agreed.

"We'll get ahold of your parents in the morning, Butters; but you need to promise us you'll let them know you need to see a doctor," Stan said very seriously.

"With that gash on your head and the way you're acting, you might need stitches and probably have a concussion," Kyle continued.

"I'd bet on a broken rib or two also," Stan added.

"Al-alright. But what if my parents d-don't want to take me to the hospital?"

"We'll get you there," Stan and Kyle said in unison.

Butters could not help but smile, knowing he was cared about.

Stan hit the lights and crawled into his sleeping bag next to Kyle's on the floor in front of the couch.

After many minutes of silence, Stan whispered: "Good job tonight, Kyle."

"Hm?" He responded groggily.

"With taking care of Butters."

"You too," he complimented.

"We should totally go into the medical field together! We could start our own clinic with me as the doctor and you as the nurse!"

"Or with me as the doctor and you as the nurse," Kyle quipped.

"You're definitely the nurse, dude," Stan insisted.

"Why's that?"

"You wrapped his bandages and gave him medicine, I'm pretty sure that makes you the nurse."

"Oh yeah? Well you cleaned him up, brought him ice packs, and practically dressed him! Pretty sure those are nurse duties, Stan."

"Well… How about we're both doctors then?"

"Or both nurses!"

They tried not to laugh too hard.

"Fellas… if – if either of you were real doctors or nurses you would – you would be quiet and let your patient get some rest."

Stan looked at Kyle as they both chuckled, "I think he'll be okay."


End file.
